


We Will Face It All Together

by secondstar



Series: Shaken and Stirred [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Spy, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:23:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondstar/pseuds/secondstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles likes to think he’s still in control. This is the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Will Face It All Together

**Author's Note:**

> ▷ This is a Bond!AU/Spy AU, but only loosely based off of the Bond/Q relationship, and the Bond Series in general.
> 
> ▷ This is part of a series, if you haven't read [Hold Your Breath and Count to Ten](http://archiveofourown.org/works/697423) I would do so _before_ you read this part!
> 
> ▷ Shaken & Stirred (Series name) is being written and posted in a **non-linear** fashion, meaning I am jumping backwards and forwards in Stiles  & Derek's timeline. Pay attention to the date/time stamps! It will help with confusion. This part takes place three years **prior** to Hold Your Breath, FYI!

**Date:**   
April 12, 2010 

**Time:**  
1400 hours 

****Location:**  
** Rutgers, State University of New Jersey  
Piscataway, New Jersey  


Stiles was first contacted by SECT in his second semester in the graduate program at Rutgers, amidst sleepless nights and shots of espresso to keep him going as exam time approached.

They had cornered him at a Starbucks, of all places. He had been sitting at a table, alone, surrounded by his computer, notes, a half-eaten scone and two empty venti coffees. Stiles had lifted a single eyebrow at the suited men who had asked for a moment of his time. He looked around, to make sure that, yes, they were talking to him. Stiles had been wearing three-day old jeans and his hoodie from Carnegie Mellon, well worn in with holes in the sleeves where his thumbs could stick through. He didn’t normally care about what he wore, but looking at the sleek suits the men before him were wearing made Stiles feel insecure. 

He sat up straighter. 

“I’m sorry?” Stiles asked, his brow furrowed, the pen in his hand tapping against his notepad as he looked between the two strangers. 

“Przemysł Stilinski?” The man reiterated. Stiles sat there, slack-jawed. He blinked, then shook his head as he lifted a hand. 

“And who, exactly, are you?” He asked, because no one called him by his first name, and no one knew how to pronounce it on the first go around. Stiles looked the men up and down. “Are you government officials? FBI? CIA?” The two men looked between themselves. One smiled. 

“Not exactly, Mr. Stilinski.” The one who hadn’t pronounced his name decided to call him mister. Stiles pursed his lips together. 

“Not exactly, meaning you aren’t FBI or CIA, otherwise I would have gotten a flash of a badge. And by the way that you just looked at one another I am guessing that you were hoping that I would pick up on that, as if I have just passed some sort of test-”

“You have done just that,” the one that could pronounce Polish spoke up. Stiles shrugged his shoulders as he looked back at his computer screen. “And we would like a few minutes of your time.” 

Minutes turned into hours. They talked Stiles into getting into a car with them, which all Stiles could think about was his father telling him to never get into cars with strangers, but it was rather hard when one of the men had taken his computer and the other had a hand on his upper arm. 

“I have a thing about people touching me,” Stiles said through gritted teeth as he yanked his arm away. “I can walk on my own, thanks.” 

Once in the car, a limo, Stiles came face to face with another man. 

“Stiles, right?” He asked with a smile. Stiles was taken aback but didn’t show it. 

“Yes,” he answered. “Am I being kidnapped? Because I have a lot of work to do and I don’t have time for this.” The man laughed, shaking his head as he waved his hand, dismissing Stiles’ humor. 

“You are being recruited, Stiles. I am Peter Hale, and I work for a company that has their eye on you. We’d like to discuss taking up your student loans, giving you a stipend to live off of until you graduate-”

“You want me to work for you?” Stiles scoffed. “This is a recruitment? You could have sent me an e-mail, man. I’m-”

“No, Stiles. I don’t think you understand,” Peter said, leaning forward. Stiles sat back, his hands on his thighs. He waited, even though he didn’t want to. He didn’t like people wasting his time, and he felt like they weren’t going to be giving him any information. “You thought we were the government, which wasn’t true.”

“Thanks for pointing out how I was wrong,” Stiles mused. Peter’s mouth twitched, showing Stiles that he liked his cheek. 

“But you weren’t far off, either. Stiles, as we understand it, you were the first in your class at Carnegie Mellon, is that correct?” Stiles shifted where he sat but didn’t break eye contact with Peter. 

“Yes.”

“And you had a full ride with them but not at Rutgers.” Stiles felt uncomfortable talking to them about his money problems. Stiles narrowed his eyes. “We only wish to help you. We helped your friend from High School, Scott McCall. You do know Scott, don’t you?” 

“Scott works for you?” Stiles asked, suspicious. Stiles didn’t know who Scott worked for, Scott had dropped off the face of the planet after undergrad, showing up every few months via phone calls and texts as if there hadn’t been radio silence. 

“He does,” Peter nodded. Stiles didn’t trust Peter, not really. He sat there with his legs crossed, his hands on one knee and his head tilted as if he was trying to figure him out. “He gave us your name, actually. A recommendation, if you will.” 

“And what is this company?” Stiles asked. “Non-government but wears ear pieces and has firearms. I am not working for the mob,” Stiles pointed out, even though he knew they weren’t the mob. He used it as a ploy to get Peter to tell him more. 

“No, not the mob,” Peter laughed as he took out his phone, then dialed a number. “McCall? I have Stilinski for you.” Peter handed Stiles the phone, his face smug. Stiles sneered as he took it. 

“Scott?” Stiles asked. 

“Stiles! Oh, man, I can’t believe they actually listened to me. Dude, you have to come work with me, it would be awesome.” 

“And where do you work, exactly?” Stiles asked. “Because I am getting no info over on this end and I am not about to sell my soul to the mob.”

“I don’t work for the mob, Stiles. I work for SECT.” 

“You work for what now and who?” Stiles asked, looking at Peter. “What is SECT? A division of the church?” 

“Strategic Espionage and Counterintelligence Taskforce,” Peter said plainly. 

“Oh, you couldn’t have told me that before, when I asked?” Stiles snapped, his leg bouncing. “Scott, when did you start there?” 

“When I graduated I was recruited.”

“By Peter?” Stiles asked. 

“No, not by him. I was recruited by another Hale. I can’t tell you much else, Stiles. You just gotta believe me on this, okay? You won’t regret joining SECT.” Stiles sighed. 

“I will think about it.” 

Stiles handed Peter back his phone, then waited for Peter to hang up with Scott. 

“You know, if I were you guys, I would drop the creep factor a bit when attempting to recruit someone to a Spy Agency.” 

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Peter quipped. “Back to business, Stiles, about you coming to work for us-”

“You don’t actually expect me to decide right now, do you?” Stiles asked, crossing his arms. “I was serious about the not selling my soul thing.” 

“Of course not, but I want you to seriously consider what we are offering you.” 

“Free ride to finish my master’s,” Stiles supplied. Peter nodded his head once. 

“And six figures,” Peter supplied with a shrug. Stiles caught himself from faltering. Instead, he just nodded, mimicking Peter. 

“I’ll think about it.”

  
**Date:** June 3, 2011

**Time:**  
0800 hours

**Location:**  
SECT ( _Strategic Espionage and Counter-Intelligence Taskforce_ ) Control  
Atlanta, GA  


After a week of tests, of setting up his retina scan, getting bloodwork done, and filling out endless amounts of paperwork, Stiles finally stepped foot in Weapons and Technologies, where he would be working with one of the finest weapons specialists in the country, Chris Argent.

“Your first project, Stilinski,” Chris had said the moment Stiles walked in the warehouse, “is to go through these and fix what our Agents have broken.” Chris pointed at a box, filled with knickknacks. Stiles nodded once, his hands in his pockets. “Welcome to SECT, where the Agents break everything we give them.” 

As it turned out, Chris was amazing to work with. He brought Stiles homemade leftovers that his wife made, knowing that Stiles was on his own on the East Coast. Stiles didn’t imagine that, not even a month after graduating with his Master’s in Biometric Engineering, that he would be tinkering with spy gear, real spy gear, in a warehouse in the basement of a hidden Agency. 

Stiles liked everything about SECT’s Control, or homebase. He liked that in order to get in, you had to enter from a bar. Just a regular bar, with an entrance in downtown Atlanta. From there, he had to walk to the back, to a door that read employees only, where he then had to have a retina scan and key in a code that was his and his alone in order to open the doors to an elevator that lead to SECT. 

He liked that the coffee was good, that Chris’ daughter, Allison, was a field agent for SECT and that she came down to visit them. Stiles liked Allison, or Gamma, if he wanted to call her by her codename. 

Allison was sitting on a table that Stiles was leaning over, soldering as he sat in a chair that he stole from Chris. 

“So you and Tau went to highschool together?” Allison asked as she crossed her legs nonchalantly. Stiles grunted as he hunched over, his eyes squinting as he worked. 

“Tau?” Stiles asked, scrunching his face together. “Oh, you mean Scott? Yeah, we go way back to elementary school.” 

“Hmm,” Allison said as she watched Stiles work. 

“We played lacrosse together, partied together, everything,” Stiles said, looking up at her, adjusting his glasses by pushing them back. “I’m going out for drinks with him tonight, you want to join?” Stiles asked casually. Allison smiled at him. 

“I’ll think about it, Stilinski.” 

With that, she hopped down, then walked towards the elevator. 

The next visitor happened at the end of the day, just as Stiles was packing up his things, about to head to the bar with Scott. A woman, tall with straight, long, dark hair walked in with an eyebrow raised. 

“You Sigma?” She asked him. Stiles nodded. 

“Can I help you?” He inquired as he started walking towards the elevator, checking his watch. Chris had already left for the day, so it was up to Stiles to lock up. He assumed that whoever this was, she was allowed down here, otherwise she wouldn’t be in the building. 

“I was just coming down to meet the future of Brain Trust,” she said smiling. Stiles looked at her quizzically. 

“I work in WeapTech,” Stiles stated, pointing to the ground he was standing in, then around the room. “See? We are in a warehouse.” 

He got her to roll her eyes at him, which made him smile as he ran his fingers through his hair. 

“Do you think they recruited you for WeapTech? When you are a Biometrics Engineer?” Stiles shrugged at her as he shook his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. They walked to the elevator together.

He hit the button that would take them to the ground level, then leaned against the side of the elevator as he waited for the doors to close and for them to start ascending. 

“So, are you part of Brain Trust, then?” Stiles asked, looking her up and down. She did the same to him, her arms crossed with an eyebrow raised. 

“No,” she answered simply. Stiles didn’t know why he thought that someone around SECT would give him a straight answer about something so simple as ‘what do you do here?’ 

Stiles didn’t prod, instead he pursed his lips together and looked her in the eye. 

“You’re a Field Agent, my guess is you recently got back from a mission, a debriefing, then you showered and then you came down here. Why?” Stiles pondered aloud. “I think you were looking for Chris, maybe he is working on something for you. When you saw he wasn’t here, you thought you would introduce yourself to me, but you haven’t, not really.” 

“Alpha,” she replied with a smile. “And yes, I am a Field Agent, and yes again, I just got back from a mission. But I really did come down to meet you, Sigma.” 

Stiles narrowed his eyes questioningly. 

“Tau talked about you,” she supplied. “I wanted to meet you before Brain Trust got their paws on you.”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to take that,” Stiles said, tilting his head to one side, trying to keep himself from smiling. 

“Oh, come on, Sigma,” Alpha teased. “Look at you, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. They will eat you alive up there.” Stiles let out a silent huff, his eyes closing momentarily. 

“Or maybe they won’t,” Alpha conceded.

With that, the elevator door opened. Stiles let her walk out before him, his face lighting up when he saw Scott waiting for him. 

“See you tomorrow, Tau,” Alpha said as she walked past Scott. Scott nodded at her, saying the same before bringing Stiles in for a hug. 

“I can’t believe you’re here!” Scott said as he held Stiles against him. Stiles winced, patting Scott on the back a few times until Scott let go of him. 

“It’s crazy, right?” Stiles asked, grinning. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Scott in person. He had been on a mission, just returning. “You sure you are up for some drinks?” Stiles asked as they walked out into the bar. They didn’t bother leaving to another bar when there was a perfectly acceptable one as their homebase. 

“For you? Of course, man. Besides, I totally napped.” 

Stiles may or may not have had one too many beers with Scott. They had eaten their fair share of food as well, though, but Stiles definitely felt the beer as he walked to his car. His car wasn’t the only one left in the parking garage, despite the time. 

In fact, Stiles stopped to stare at a motorcycle that was parked nearby his Jeep. It was sleek, black, and looked to be in pristine condition. Stiles licked his lips as he took a step forward, his fingers skimming over it. 

He pulled his hand back, his head whipping around as he heard footsteps approaching. He didn’t see anyone, though, so he turned his attention back to the bike. He wasn’t ready to drive, he needed to stall before he got behind the wheel and drove the ten minutes it took him to get to his loft. 

His father was a sheriff, and the last thing he wanted was his dad to fly out to Atlanta because Stiles had gotten in a drunken accident. Stiles made a face at himself as he scratched his head. 

“What are you doing?” A voice rang out behind him. Stiles twisted his upper body as he looked over his shoulder, towards the voice. It belonged to a dark-haired man who was glaring at him. 

“Admiring the view,” Stiles sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets so he didn’t look threatening. “Beautiful bike.” The man, who was wearing jeans and a tight black t-shirt, walked forward and got out his helmet. He didn’t make a move to put it on, though. Stiles looked him over, noting the expensive watch and shoes. The shoes were such one would wear with a suit, not with jeans and a t-shirt. It was as if the man had just changed. Stiles narrowed his eyes as he deduced that this man was a SECT Field Agent. 

“Thanks,” the man said tersely. He still wasn’t moving, as if he wanted to say something to Stiles. Stiles waited. “You’re new, I saw you today.” 

“I’m WeapTech,” Stiles supplied. The man nodded, as though that made sense. 

“Argent is a good man.” Stiles nodded in agreement, amused at how little they were conversing. 

“The name is Stilinski.” Stiles stuck out his hand as a gesture. He wondered, only for a second, if the Field Agent would take it. By the way he was staring at it, Stiles thought not, but then he was surprised by a hand grabbing his, shaking it. Stiles stiffened even though he knew it was coming, even though he had been the one to stick his hand out in the first place. 

“Hale,” the man answered. Stiles raised an eyebrow, dropping his hand. Hale? As in Peter Hale? Stiles hadn’t seen Peter Hale since the day he ‘recruited’ him, over a year ago. 

“You recruited Tau?” Stiles asked. Hale shook his head, giving Stiles a sideways look. 

“I don’t recruit.” 

“I can see why,” Stiles mused. That got him a scoff. Hale decided their conversation was through because he put on his helmet, then straddled his bike. Hale looked at him, then, as if sizing him up. Stiles stood up straighter, but didn’t break eye contact with him. 

“Tau was recruited by Alpha,” Hale supplied. Stiles looked to Hale’s hand, looking for a ring. There wasn’t one. Perhaps Alpha was Peter’s wife, then. Or was SECT a family business? It certainly wasn’t run like one. The revving of the motorcycle’s engine snapped Stiles from his thoughts. He stepped out of the way so that Hale could leave. 

“See you, Hale.” 

Hale gave him a single nod before he rode off. Stiles thought about what it would be like to ride on the back, clinging to Hale as they sped down the highway. Stiles shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face as he made his way to his Jeep.

  
**Date:** October 22, 2011

**Time:**  
1300 hours

**Location:**  
SECT ( _Strategic Espionage and Counter-Intelligence Taskforce_ ) Control  
Atlanta, GA  


Stiles started training to become a handler in September, much to his surprise. He was given simulation missions, which reminded him of the Kobiyashi Maru from Star Trek, but he didn’t tell anyone in SECT that. Well, he told Scott. Of course he told Scott because he tells Scott everything.

Being in the same city with his best friend again was like a breath of fresh air. They stopped for drinks after work whenever Scott was in town, they picked up their friendship right where they had left off in high school. Scott had helped Stiles pick out his new Jeep, considering the Jeep his dad had gotten him in high school had crapped out a few months after he got to Atlanta. 

Training to become a handler was a lot of reading, a lot of memorization, and a lot of real-time testing: Star Trek style. Stiles didn’t mind it because Alpha was his practice Field Agent. 

“Come on, Sigma,” Alpha spoke into her ear piece. Stiles had no visual in this simulation, only the sound of Alpha’s voice in his ear as he typed furiously on his keyboard, his eyes scanning the screen before him. 

“What do you see?” Stiles asked, his voice calm yet clipped. His mission was to find out where exactly Alpha was located without a homing device, using only her voice as a means to pinpoint her location. 

“It’s a dark, wooded area.”

“Is there snow? Frost?” Stiles asked as he pulled up a time zone map, isolating the parts of the map where it was currently dark. 

The exercise was designed to show how fast of a thinker Stiles was, how good he was at thinking on the spot, if he made good decisions under pressure. He was in a small room, alone and isolated. He knew people were watching him on the other side of the glass, but he couldn’t think about that, not with Alpha on the line and the test going on. He only had five minutes to figure it out, and he was running out of time. 

“Yes to snow,” Alpha supplied. 

“Is it snowing? Can you see the moon? Any constellations?” Stiles asked as he clicked his mouse. His leg was bouncing idly, but otherwise he showed no signs of stress. 

“I can see the moon, but I can’t see any constellations.” 

“Can’t see any stars like it was just dusk? How dark is it? How high is the moon?” Stiles asked, his voice coming out in a tumble. His window was closing. 

“It is too early to see stars. I see one star, maybe a few, but no constellations.” Stiles pulled up weather in the time zone that he deduced it was around five hours ahead of the current time. He pulled up England first, no signs of snow in the past day. “How much snow is on the ground?” Stiles asked. 

“Around five inches.” 

Stiles looked north on his map. 

“Iceland,” Stiles whispered just as he heard the door open. He spun around in his chair, his fingers in his hair. “Alpha is in Iceland.” 

His instructor, a woman by the name Morrell, walked in, her heels echoing off the walls. Stiles waited expectantly as she looked over her clipboard. 

“Constellations, interesting,” she mused. Stiles looked back at his computer screen, looking over his information. 

“Was it Iceland?” Stiles asked, not wanting for her to do her usual vague responses that he was never sure what she was trying to prove to him. He hadn’t slept in days, this was his fourth test in a row and he needed to collapse. At this point he would rather stay in WeapTech with Chris and build things that would undoubtedly be broken immediately after being handed over to a Field Agent. 

“It was,” she answered with a small smile. 

“Congrats, Sigma!” Alpha’s voice came over his earpiece. Stiles grinned as he stood up, covering his mouth with a hand. “When I get back in town I am taking you out for drinks.” 

“I’ll be waiting for that drink,” Stiles said before he took off his ear piece. So many protocols were shoved into his brain, procedures and scenarios crammed into his memory. He felt like he was going to collapse but he had passed the test. 

“If you’ll follow me, we have paperwork to fill out and we have to update your clearance levels.”

Stiles wondered as he followed Morrell to her office, how long it would take before he was actually given a mission, before he was added to Brain Trust. But first, he needed sleep. 

It took another two weeks before he heard anything about moving from WeapTech to Brain Trust. He assisted Lydia Martin during a mission that lasted a week in itself, where he helped track down a German Diplomat in Denmark. 

His next assignment had to do with Mahealani. Together, the both of them hacked into a secure security system of a private company based in Sweden. Stiles didn’t sleep for four days, but in the end it was worth it. The information they had grabbed was vital to a mission that Omega was on in India and had gained him recognition with the higher ups, along with landing his first mission paired up with a Field Agent.

A meeting was set up first thing in the morning on a Tuesday. Stiles arrived two hours early, looking over files, coffee in hand, so that he wouldn’t seem underqualified. The last thing he wanted was a Field Agent to think him unacceptable, a rookie. The mission itself seemed easy enough, a writ of assassination for a bomb maker and distributor based in Prague. 

“Do you always show up two hours early?”

Stiles looked up from his paperwork, which was spread out across the table he was seated at, to see Hale standing over him, looking down at Stiles’ notes. Stiles dropped his hand from where it was tangled in his own hair, then began picking up the confidential information, pulling it towards him as he shook his head. 

“Not always,” Stiles said, his voice clipped. He looked up at Hale, who had a smirk across his face while his hands were casually in his pockets. 

“First mission?” Hale asked conversationally. 

“No.”

It wasn’t a lie, it was his third. It was his first mission that featured a Field Agent. Hale needed to be more clear about his questions if he wanted any information from Stiles. 

“Well, then, I am sure there is nothing to worry about.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at Hale. 

“I never said there was ever anything to worry about,” Stiles said as he stood up, gathering the remaining papers. “If you’ll excuse me, I am waiting for my briefing with-”

“Eta,” Hale supplied. Stiles looked up at him, his lips pursed and nostrils flared out in exasperation. Hale was Eta. Eta was his Field Agent. “Nice to meet you, Sigma.” 

Stiles squared his shoulders, closing his eyes for just a moment so that he could gather his thoughts. 

“You’re early, Eta,” Stiles admitted as he slid a folder towards Hale. Hale sat across from Stiles, looking over the folder as Stiles remained standing, his hands moving to his hips. 

“I am,” Hale said, looking up at Stiles over the folder momentarily before dropping it back down, his eyes skimming across the page laid out before him. Stiles watched him read, his fingers strumming against his own torso absentmindedly as he waited for Hale, no, Eta to finish glossing over the writ. “Are you being supervised during this mission?” Eta asked. Stiles scoffed, affronted. He shook his head once. 

“No.”  
Eta nodded his head, then tossed the folder to the table. 

“So then, what is the plan?” 

The plan had taken Stiles days to work out. Plane tickets, weaponry, a strategic plan... it all took time. Stiles leaned against the table with one arm, the palm of his hand pressing against the tabletop as he pushed a package across the table. 

Eta reached out for it expectantly. Their fingertips touched, which made Stiles internally wince as he pulled back then pocketed his hand. If Stiles prided himself in one thing, it was outward stoicism. He had complete control of his facial expressions, and knew he could hide the electric charge he had felt in Hale’s touch. It wasn’t like it had been when they had shaken hands months before, that much Stiles knew. It was an off-putting feeling, something he had not expected. Touching, to him, was intimate. It didn’t matter if it was a pat on the back, a handshake, or a hug. Intimacy was not something that Stiles had ever been comfortable with. 

Eta didn’t seem to notice Stiles’ retraction, or that it was anything but a normal reaction as he opened the package before him. Inside was a passport with an alias, a single way plane ticket, along with a box that held what looked like an EpiPen. Hale looked up at Stiles with an eyebrow raised. 

“You expect me to get close enough to the target to stab him with an EpiPen?” He asked through gritted teeth. The corner of his mouth tugged upwards as he adjusted his glasses with one hand, then nodded. 

“I do.”

“How?” Eta asked, setting the EpiPen down then crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair. 

“I did research, Eta,” Stiles said as he sat back down, pushing yet another file at him. “The target is deathly allergic to nuts. We know where he has been staying in Prague, thanks to Alpha’s recon work leading up to the writ. You are to go to Prague, follow him to the reservations he has made in two days, dress as a waiter, put nuts in his food when he orders, and then look like the hero when you stab him with an EpiPen in front of the entire restaurant. Sadly, he won’t be surviving the episode.” 

Eta stared at Stiles for a long while, unmoving. 

“Are you anti-gun-with-a-silencer, some sort of pacifist?” 

Stiles snorted silently, shaking his head. 

“Delta wanted it to look like an accident, Eta. He wanted no blood, so that the writ wouldn’t be seen as assassination right away. Of course, after an autopsy, the truth will come out, if there is one. To the eye, it would look like a severe allergic reaction.” 

“How do you know about these reservations?” 

“Alpha has been tracking him, knows the alias he has been using.” 

“Alpha can’t carry out the writ?” Eta asked. Stiles raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Orders are that you do it Agent Hale,” Stiles pressed. “Alpha did the recon but is moving to a mission elsewhere. You are to meet up with Alpha once in Prague and exchange information.” 

Eta sighed, then stood up. Stiles joined him, taking a small box out of his pocket as he did so, handing it over to Eta. Inside was a small earpiece that fit just inside the ear, unseen. It was the size of a watch battery. 

“What is this?” 

“A secure line that only you and I will be on,” Stiles supplied. “I want to be in contact with you at all times. The earpieces provided are Control wide, are only used-”

“During the direct mission,” Eta interjected. “Are you telling me you want this in my ear at all times?”

Stiles nodded. Eta’s jaw clenched as he looked down at it. 

“I will be wearing one too,” Stiles shrugged. “If we’re going to work together, we have to trust each other.” 

“You better not snore, Stilinski.” 

“The earpiece goes on your belt, to get through TSA,” Stiles provided. “Once past them, put it on.”

“So I’m going to look like I am talking to myself?” Eta asked with a smirk. Stiles gave him a smile in return. 

“We will only need to talk if it is necessary, I won’t be talking your ear off, I assure you.” 

Stiles managed a nap on a couch in Brain Trust for about two hours before he was woken up by Eta’s voice in his ear, letting him know the earpiece was in. Stiles grunted, his eyes opening wide, his hand brushing over his face. His arms had been crossed and he had been drooling, but only slightly. 

“Copy that, Eta,” Stiles answered as he sat up, rubbing at his eyes. “Did they pause you at TSA for anything?”

“I got the ever special full body search,” Eta deadpanned. Stiles smirked, his glasses dangling between his fingers as he continued rubbing at his sleep-filled eyes. He stifled a yawn, knowing that Eta could hear him. 

“Sounds like you enjoyed it,” Stiles quipped in return as he stood up, stretching after he put his glasses back on. 

“My favorite thing about traveling.” 

After that, Eta was silent. Stiles listened in at his desk as Eta boarded, flirted openly with a stewardess, and ordered a drink: scotch. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have gotten you in first class.”

“If you hadn’t,” Eta whispered, the clink of ice apparent in Stiles’ ear, “I would have been cranky.” 

“We wouldn’t want that,” Stiles mused as he leaned back in his chair, moving his neck back and forth as he cracked it. 

“Who is your second?” Eta asked. 

“I don’t have one,” Stiles answered, looking to Lydia, Danny, and Matt as he pulled up his proposed scheduled outline of the days to come, of the mission. “It is just the two of us.” 

“What about sleep?” 

“I sleep when you do,” Stiles supplied. 

 

Eta met up with Alpha in Prague, with the earpiece in. It was late and Stiles was in his loft, wearing only his boxer briefs as he carried around a cup of decaffeinated tea, readying himself for bed with a book. 

“Took you long enough, Der,” Alpha said, loudly. Stiles assumed that maybe she was close to Eta’s ear, perhaps they had hugged. Stiles climbed into bed, his face set in a frown. Eta cleared his throat, knowing full well that Stiles was listening to what would normally be a private conversation. 

“The flight was long, what information do you have for me?” 

“Now, now,” Alpha teased openly, “I haven’t seen you in months. Let’s grab a drink first. Business can wait.” 

“Laura, I don’t-” Eta stopped mid sentence, sighing. Stiles thought for a second that Eta would take out the earpiece, would turn it off. If he were Stiles, Stiles would turn it off if he wanted some time alone with Laura. 

“You need to let loose little bro,” Laura laughed. “The reservations aren’t until tomorrow. There isn’t much you and Sigma can do tonight.” 

Stiles curled up on his bed, opening his book but not really paying attention to it as he listened in. Laura was Eta’s sister, Alpha and Eta were siblings, both Field Agents, with Peter also being one himself; although, his tie to them was still unknown to Stiles. 

Stiles fell asleep by the third round of drinks, slipping into a deep sleep with the sounds of Alpha and Eta laughing and talking in his ear. 

The mission was a success. Stiles heard the target gasp for his last breath in Eta’s arms, heard the screams as the patrons around them saw that he was no longer breathing. He heard Eta splash water on his face in a bathroom, then start changing clothes for a flight back. 

“I am booking your flight now,” Stiles said, his voice quiet. Knowing that he had just taken part in ending someone’s life weighed heavily on him. It had been his plan, his idea about the EpiPen, his dosage of poison. Eta was just the one who had administered it. “First Class, layover in London-”

“Are you okay?” Eta asked him. Stiles stopped talking, stopped typing, his eyes wide as he looked around Brain Trust. No one was paying attention to him, to their mission. It was just the two of them. Stiles licked his dry, cracked lips and tried to remember to breathe. 

“Of course,” he answered. “Your layover is in London, as I was saying, it isn’t a long one-”

“No direct flights?”

“Not unless you want to stay in Prague until tomorrow night.”

“No, I don’t want that. Just get me home.” Stiles nodded his head. 

“The layover is only for two hours, you will land in New York, then hop on a plane to Atlanta.”

“Jesus,” Eta said, his voice muffled by his hand probably rubbing over his face. “Sleep is for the weak.”

Stiles laughed. 

“Sleep on the flight from London to New York.” 

“Yes, _Sir_.” Stiles would be lying if Derek saying the work ‘sir’ to him didn’t make his stomach drop. So instead of lying to himself, he pushed it to the side to think about some other time.

Stiles went home, by the urging of Lydia, while Eta was in the air. Eta was talkative during his layover in London, most likely out of boredom, as Stiles grabbed food to go from Moe’s. He ate his burrito, adding things to the conversation as he waited for Eta to board his eight-hour flight. And then the both of them passed out until the flight landed. 

Stiles wasn’t sure why they both kept the earpiece in after the mission was complete, but he didn’t even think about taking it out until Eta was back at Control, standing in front of him. 

“Sigma,” Eta stated, startling Stiles where he was sitting, typing up his after action report. Stiles spun around in his chair, his neck craning to look up at Eta. Last he heard, Eta was in the cab on the way from the airport. He had zoned out, treating Eta as background noise, like white noise that was always there in his ear. 

Eta’s voice was both in his earpiece and live, right in front of him. It was disconcerting. Stiles opted to take his earpiece out. As soon as he did, Eta copied him. 

“Eta, good to see you brought back all the equipment in one piece,” Stiles jested as he spun back around, looking over the sentence that he just wrote. Adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat, Stiles tried to concentrate even though he knew that Eta was still standing behind him. 

“The debriefing isn’t for another hour,” Eta supplied, taking a step towards Stiles’ desk, moving into Stiles’ view. His hands were in his pockets again, his suit tailored perfectly with his sleeves rolled up from the plane ride. Stiles’ eyes trailed up his body slowly as an eyebrow rose. Their eyes met and it sent a shiver down Stiles’ spine that he refused to acknowledge psychically. “I think we deserve a drink.”

That was how Stiles found himself downstairs, in the bar, with a drink in his hand. Eta, Hale, loosened his tie as they sat in a booth. Stiles watched him momentarily, then let out a laugh filled sigh. 

“A mission well done,” Hale toasted once their drinks arrived. The clink of their glasses, Stiles’ Guinness and Hale’s Black and Tan, made Stiles look into Hale’s eyes. He pretended there wasn’t a spark there. Instead he drank down half of his beer in one go, opening his throat for the liquid as it poured downwards. It reminded Stiles of come, of Hale somehow. 

Stiles set his glass down on the table and wiped at his mouth absentmindedly. 

“So your name is Derek?” Stiles asked, swallowing down the fact that he had listened in on his and Alpha’s private conversation, like the fact that they were siblings. Derek nodded, the corner of his mouth turning upwards as he twirled his half empty glass around. 

“And yours is?”

“You can call me Stiles,” he supplied with a smirk. Derek lifted an eyebrow but didn’t press him. Stiles finished his beer, checking his watch for the time. “We should head back up.”

“We have twenty minutes,” Derek replied, giving Stiles a stern look. Stiles gave him one back with an added flourish of a quirked eyebrow as his palms lay flat on the table, helping slide himself off of the booth’s seat. He started walking towards the elevator, smirking to himself when he felt Derek’s arm brush up against his. 

The elevator ride up was silent. Stiles watched Derek unroll his shirt sleeves, button his cuffs, and straighten his tie. Stiles himself looked down at his ensemble, his rolled up sleeves and vest were where he wanted them to be. He wasn’t wearing a tie, he never wore them, they always felt restricting to him. He liked the way ties looked on Derek, he found himself thinking. Stiles bit his lip as he looked away, not thinking about yanking on it. 

As the elevator dinged Stiles realized he was so undeniably screwed. 

 

Their second mission was longer than the first. Derek was sent on recon in Budapest. By the third day, Stiles had acclimated to Budapest’s time. He learned that Derek did a lot of push-ups every morning and that he counted them out loud. Derek learned that Stiles mumbles in his sleep, as Derek told him the morning of the fifth day. 

“You kept saying something about my tie,” Derek pushed him. Stiles shook his head as he sipped at his coffee. 

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’ with his lips. “I don’t believe you.”

Unfortunately, he did believe Derek, and that scared him. 

Stiles woke up to the sound of his name being whispered in his ear late one night. It was late for Budapest standards, Stiles realized when he looked over at the clock on his bedside table. He looked around his empty room, his brow furrowed when he tried to figure out where the voice had come from. It wasn’t until he heard a breath hitching that he realized that it was _Derek_. Stiles stilled, his eyes widening, hand covering his mouth to keep from making a noise as he listened. He listened to Derek’s heavy breathing, wanton sighs, gasping breaths and the sound that was inexplicable, a sound that Stiles knew all too well. 

Derek was jacking off. 

Not only was he jacking off, but he had said Stiles’ name. He thought Stiles was asleep, that he was safe from prying ears. Stiles’ body throbbed, his blood flowing south at the mere thought. Stiles almost let out a moan as Derek practically hiccoughed an audible gasp, then swallowed down whatever other sound he had been about to make as his breathing quickened. Stiles’ hand shot down between his legs as he rolled onto his back. He let his hand fall from his mouth so that he could slide his fingers down his own chest as he started stroking himself, closing his eyes as he pictured Derek doing the same. Only he thought about his mouth on Derek, about being the one jacking him off. 

Stiles bit down a moan as his free hand cupped his own balls, tugging on them as he quickened his pace. Derek grunted out a shuddering breath, then let out a sigh. Stiles bit his bottom lip to keep from making a sound, his back arching off the bed at the strain, the self-discipline. 

Stiles couldn’t hear anything, then. 

He was past the point of caring, though. He was gasping for air, his climax rushing through him faster than he had anticipated. Once he came down from his high, grasping at the sheets of his bed, he realized that he had let out a choked sob, which could only mean one thing. 

Derek had heard him. 

Stiles made his way to the bathroom, flipping on the light to look at himself in the mirror. His chest was flushed, his come splattered across his stomach, trailing across his torso. He bit his lips, which were reddened from gnawing at them to keep himself quiet. 

Derek was silent on the other end, which had Stiles’ heart beating roughly in his chest. Stiles looked from his come-smeared stomach up to his own eyes, leaning on the sink, his fingers gripping the edge of it tight. He narrowed them, his jaw clenching for only a moment before he pushed off of the sink and walked back into his bedroom, grabbing his phone. 

He walked back into his bathroom, typing in his passcode as he stood in front of his mirror. With one last look at himself he opened his photo app, switching the way the camera pointed. He got a shot of his stomach, with his hand splayed across it, smearing the come even more. 

He sent Derek the picture without a caption. 

Stiles knew it was a risk. Not because of SECT, because he knew they didn’t track texts on personal phones, but because of him bringing what just happened to the surface. Stiles wasn’t one for denying himself something. That and Derek had said his _name_. 

Stiles cleaned himself off with a damp washcloth that he had used earlier to clean his face, then tossed it into a hamper as he waited. He heard Derek’s phone buzz. In that moment Stiles swore he felt like his heart was about to burst out of his chest. 

“Jesus Christ,” Derek cursed. Stiles bit his inner cheek, waiting. He waited for more. Derek let out a long, labored sigh. “Stiles...”

“I want to know something,” Stiles heard himself say, his voice more wrecked than he thought it would be. 

“Okay,” Derek whispered, clearing his throat. 

“Was that the first time?” Stiles asked. “Was that the first time that you jacked off thinking about me?” It took Derek a moment to answer. Stiles heard him shifting, he heard sheets ruffling. 

“No.” 

Stiles couldn’t stop himself from smirking. 

The recon mission lasted a week and a half. By the time Derek’s plane had landed, he and Stiles had phone sex, well... earpiece sex, three more times. Stiles, for his own sanity, had Derek in his phone as the number seven. It made him feel better about keeping the pictures that Derek had sent him. He wasn’t sure what they were doing, exactly, but he did know that he couldn’t wait for after the debriefing. 

Stiles was already seated at the table, his after action report ready to be handed in. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he waited for the arrival of the rest of the group. Debriefings always had a larger audience, higher ups such as Delta himself and his assistant, Isaac. Stiles tugged at his jacket, straightening his posture as the door opened. 

“Coffee?” Isaac asked, setting down a cup in front of him. Stiles gave him a small smile, nodding his head as he reached out for it. 

“Thank you,” Stiles replied as the door opened once more. Stiles didn’t react when he saw Eta walk in, his usual suit discarded for khakis and a plain white collared shirt, no tie. It was the first time Stiles saw him in something other than a suit. It made his mouth go dry.

He took a sip of his coffee to do something with both his hands and his mouth. He turned his attention back to Isaac, ignoring the fact that Derek chose the seat next to Stiles, deciding to sit with his legs wide, his hands hanging limply against his thighs in his lap. Stiles gave them a brief glance before sliding his report towards Derek. Derek took it, his fingers touching Stiles’ arm purposefully. Stiles scrunched his nose up but didn’t react otherwise as he watched Derek open the folder, his eyes skimming over his work. 

The debriefing lasted an hour and a half, most of which had Stiles standing in front of his colleagues, retelling the information that Eta had gathered. Stiles tried, in vain, not to look at Eta as he did so but some things are easier said than done because Eta was distracting with his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, showing off a hint of chest hair that Stiles hadn’t even imagined would be there, considering how Derek always wore ties, always had his shirts buttoned all the way to the collar. 

Derek was teasing him and Stiles didn’t appreciate it. 

After the meeting, Stiles went to his desk in Brain Trust, shutting down for the long weekend that he had earned. Stiles straightened up his desk, checking his watch as he did so. It was almost seven o’clock. He contemplated ordering a pizza and falling asleep on his couch while marathoning Fringe. 

Or, he contemplated it until he heard the door to Brain Trust open then close. The hair on the back of Stiles’ neck stood on end, because he knew who it was. Stiles licked his lips as he continued going about his normal shutdown routine. 

Eta’s footsteps towards him were barely audible. If anything, Stiles only knew Eta was standing nearby was because of the body heat he gave off. 

“You don’t normally wear a tailored jacket,” Eta supplied. Stiles said nothing as he turned his head, giving Eta a look over, his eyes raking over Eta’s body. 

“I never pegged you as a khaki wearer.” 

“Suits are at the dry cleaners.” 

Stiles didn’t reply as he turned his entire body, leaning against his desk, both of his palms pressed against the edge, fingers gripping it tight. He faced forward, his chin held high as he looked Eta in the eye. They stood there in silence for longer than a companionable silence should last, verging on staggering, suffocating. Stiles was testing him, just to see how long he could last with the uncertainty of what was between them. 

“What do you want?” Derek asked plainly. The corner of Stiles’ mouth quirked ever so slightly, his hands sliding from the desktop to his pockets, his head tilting to the side as if contemplating Derek’s question. 

“You on your knees,” he answered truthfully, though his voice remained casual. What surprised Stiles was not the fact that Derek looked around, at the glass doors to Brain Trust where anyone who walked by could see the both of them plain as day, but that his body jerked as if he was about to do just that. 

He was about to drop to his knees at Stiles’ word. Stiles bit his lip, his eyes widening just enough that Derek noticed. 

“I can do that,” Derek managed to get out, his cheeks tinged red. Stiles pushed himself off of his desk, walking towards the door. He didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know that Derek was following him. 

“You will,” Stiles supplied as they walked into the elevator. Stiles cornered himself in the elevator, letting Derek push the button to the ground floor. 

“I will,” Derek agreed, leaning against the wall of the elevator himself, his gaze not leaving Stiles, though Stiles wasn’t looking at him. He was watching the numbers descend on the elevator. Stiles pulled his hand away as Derek’s fingers brushed against his. 

“Rules,” Stiles gasped, his eyes closing momentarily. “One: no touching unless I specify.” He wasn’t sure how controlled he could keep his voice if Derek continued touching him when he wasn’t expecting it. It was making him shiver, react. It was making him want to snap every button on his shirt as he pinned Derek against the wall of the elevator. It made him want to push Derek to his knees then and there, knowing full well that there were cameras. 

Derek nodded, but said nothing. Stiles relaxed, letting go of the tension he didn’t realize he was holding in out of his shoulders. He swallowed, looking at Derek. “Two: no discussing this here.” 

They walked out of the elevator and into the bar, waving to colleagues as they left. They weren’t stopping for drinks tonight. Stiles breathed through his nose, in and out, concentrating on the rise and fall of his chest as they walked to the parking deck. 

Stiles was surprised that Derek had stopped in front of a black Camaro instead of a motorcycle. It took him off guard, but he recovered by twisting around on his heels, a hand reaching up and adjusting his glasses seamlessly. 

“Where do you want me?” Derek asked. Stiles searched Derek’s eyes, looking for signs that he was unsure of what exactly Stiles had implied earlier. Derek’s face was stoic, his lips parted. He was staring at Stiles’ lips. 

Stiles wanted to say ‘Here’. He wanted to rake his teeth over Derek’s bottom lip as they kissed, he wanted his fingers through Derek’s hair, yanking it as he pulled him to his knees right then and there in the parking garage. Stiles clenched his jaw, his own gaze dropping to Derek’s lips, his nostrils flaring as he chewed the inside of his cheek. 

“Your place,” Stiles decided. Derek’s sharp intake of breath signified that he hadn’t expected that, he had expected Stiles to say his own place. Stiles wasn’t ready for that, to let Derek in. That would take time. Derek nodded his head. 

“Follow me?” Derek asked. Stiles took a step forward, darting between Derek’s eyes and his mouth. Stiles reached out, his fingers tangling in Derek’s shirt, tugging Derek toward him. Stiles gasped into the kiss as their lips met, mouths open and waiting. Derek’s hands shot up, cupping Stiles’ face. Stiles moaned, unable to hold back. He thought about biting down on Derek’s lip, reminding him about touching, but he didn’t do it, couldn’t. Not when he wanted it just as badly as Derek did. 

Restraint would come later, Stiles decided as his hand slid down Derek’s torso, yanking at his shirt, untucking with haste. Derek was the one who ended the kiss, his hands dropping from Stiles’ face. It brought Stiles back from the void where his lust overcame his control. He took a step back. 

“I didn’t ask about-”

“Give me your address,” Stiles commanded, taking out his phone and pulling up his maps app then handing the phone over to Derek. “In case we get separated.” Derek plugged his address in without a word, giving the phone back without touching Stiles. 

Stiles pocketed his phone, then leaned in, his eyes closing as they kissed once more. This time it was more chaste, his lips brushing over Derek’s lightly at first until Derek breathed in, his lips parting, his stubble rubbing against Stiles’ smooth chin. Stiles placed a hand on Derek’s chest, pushing back from him. 

“Remember what I said,” Stiles reiterated as he took a few steps back from Derek. He felt Derek’s gaze on him as he turned, heading towards his car. 

“On my knees,” Derek supplied. Stiles twisted his head to look over his shoulder with a smile. 

“Yes, exactly that.”

**Author's Note:**

> ▷ Przemysł is a Polish name. I chose it because to the American eye, it can not be pronounced. It is said like Premyslas or Premislaus (I prefer the second!), so when the Agents called Stiles by his name, properly, he was suspicious (wouldn't you be too?!). :) 
> 
> ▷ Beta'd by lsdme, mumblo, and ionsquare, summary by rrrobin. 
> 
> I wish I could share with you guys all the notes that were put in the column of my googledoc for this fic. Pure gold as far as keysmashes and one-liners go. I couldn't ask for better betas. THANK YOU.


End file.
